


Valentine

by cornflakes_canvas



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Love Letters, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 04:40:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17780729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornflakes_canvas/pseuds/cornflakes_canvas
Summary: "May I call with this brief line you my loving Valentine?"





	Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day (and hooray to being single) ♥♥

When Dan and Kyle were fourteen years old, they started writing each other Valentine's cards.

The annual tradition was first set in motion when the head of their school thought up yet another despised custom that was sure to mortify a great number of students for years to come – for the moderate fee of one pound and a classmate's name scribbled down on a folded piece of paper, a single red rose, slightly battered after hours-long storage, would be delivered anonymously to a secret crush or a new love. What sounded like an utterly disastrous idea in theory proved worse in practice and while the recipients' names were read aloud in front of the whole class and each pupil was urged to collect the proof of their mysterious admirer's undying love from the teacher's desk, those _“poor, unfortunate souls”_ who came away empty-handed were instantly met with inquisitive, pitying or even sneering side glances, a patronising pat on the back or a soft-spoken, _“Maybe you'll get one next year!”_

Dan didn't get a rose. Neither did Kyle. So the following day, the younger of the two boys walked the gloomy hallways with a toothy grin on his face, sliding his purple rucksack off his back as soon as he spied Dan waiting for him in front of their English classroom and rummaging around until he pulled out a heart-shaped postcard. It was time-worn and terribly distasteful and depicted a round-eyed cartoon cat sitting amidst an ocean of daisies with the words _“This little kitten, Valentine, has come to ask you to be mine”_ written underneath.

 

“What's this supposed to be?”

 

Kyle was still smiling like an idiot. “A Valentine's card!”

 

“Yeah, I can see that, but-”

 

“Thought it might cheer you up,” his friend shrugged, “and, like – fuck Valentine's Day and hooray to being single?”

 

Dan felt himself flush as he stared at the amazingly tacky card, his fingertips smoothing down the frayed edges. “Oh, uh ... thanks.”

 

“No problemo. I hope you hate it!” Kyle sniggered and bumped their shoulders together before he waltzed into the classroom ahead of the older boy, a light-hearted skip in his step.

 

That same day, Dan rifled through a small cardboard box in his mother's bedroom that was filled to the brim with old letters and vintage postcards that she had collected in her youth (some of them eerily blank, others bearing unexplained inscriptions such as _I'm Sorry_ or _I Love You, Now and Forever_ ), and sitting cross-legged on the floor, he leafed through the yellowing paper with great curiosity and greater care. The next morning, he shuffled into their chemistry class, slumped down in his usual spot next to Kyle and silently slid the card he had chosen across the smooth, white surface of the table. It showed a filigree illustration of a dark-haired girl in a long, flowing dress and a rosy-cheeked cherub with a bow and arrow floating in the air next to her. Underneath, it said, _“May I call with this brief line you my loving Valentine?”_

The younger boy's brown eyes widened comically when his gaze fell on the magnificently tawdry card before he snorted a delighted laugh and elbowed Dan in the side, ruffling his hair as he did in greeting most mornings and thanking him with a cheeky grin brightening his face. The next time Dan went over to Kyle's house, he found the postcard taped to the wall next to his friend's bed, right by the headboard, and his heart skipped a beat.

That was the day he first admitted to himself that he felt _more_ for Kyle.

So much more than he had ever felt for another person before.

 

A whole year passed, flying by the way it only does when one is young and full of dreams, and the two boys grew closer than they had ever been. They would hang out almost every day, watch shitty horror flicks on Kyle's ancient laptop or ride their rusty bikes to the second-hand record store or the ice cream parlour, and Kyle would accompany Dan to the newly opened coffee shop the older boy really liked, order a hot chocolate and take tiny sips of the sweet drink as he watched his friend with a tender smile on his face. Dan had told Kyle time and again that there was no need to tag along when all he did was sit in silence, thumbing through whichever novel had grabbed his attention until his eyelids were too heavy to continue, but Kyle _swore_ he enjoyed it. It made him feel calm, he said.

Dan wished he could tell Kyle just how much he loved him. He wished he could confess that his tortuous thoughts revolved around his dark-haired friend from the very moment he woke up in the morning, while he sat on the bus en route to yet another dreaded day at school and as his teacher lectured him for the umpteenth time about how rapidly his grades would improve if only he opened his mouth during class, when he ate dinner by himself because his mum was working the night shift again and as he watched the taunting, flashing city lights from his bedroom window. When he lay awake at night, eyes squeezed shut and imagining Kyle lying next to him, slipping his eager hands under the blankets and Dan's flimsy T-shirt and sliding them over his stomach until he had to clasp a hand over his mouth to stifle the hopeless gasp that escaped his throat.

But he didn't tell him. Instead, Dan stole another cutesy Valentine's card from his mum's hidden _treasure box_ that he slipped into Kyle's backpack during lunch break, afraid that this past year and the new intimateness that connected them might have shifted the way in which Kyle would perceive this joke that wasn't one. The card that had caught Dan's eye portrayed a curly-haired blonde with a blue bow around her head and the words _“What are you going to do with it?”_ written across the big, red heart she was clutching tightly to her chest. It was _hideous_ and Kyle loved it. When Dan sat down at their desk less than an hour later, Kyle shot him a conspiratorial smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at the heavy textbook that lay between them until Dan opened it curiously and uncovered yet another postcard, one that pictured two cherubs shooting graceful white doves out of a canon, signed in his friend's curly handwriting.

 

_Kyle xx_

 

Two _x_.

That was two _x_ more than the previous year.

 

The year that Dan turned sixteen, Kyle had his first girlfriend.

She was likeable, introverted and very creative, and she would smile timidly whenever Kyle curled a protecting arm around her middle. Dan didn't miss the way she looked up at the tall, lanky boy – with helpless adoration. _Devotion_. She reminded Dan of himself and he hated it. He hated her.

She had what he would never call his own.

Despite no longer being single (which sort of defeated the purpose of their silly little _tradition_ ), Kyle still got Dan a card for Valentine's Day, one that showed a little girl in a pink dress pushing a cart that was virtually bursting with big blue wild flowers and tiny purple hearts, but Dan couldn't stand looking at it after Kyle's girlfriend gushed over the _gorgeous_ blue bouquet the boy had brought when he picked her up for their first Valentine's date. Dan threw the _stupid card_ in the dustbin that night and even if he pulled it back out the very second he managed to stop himself crying in frustration, the small act of resilience made him feel a lot better, for however brief a moment of sweet relief.

 

Kyle and his girlfriend broke up before they had a chance to celebrate their first anniversary and all that Dan could do to help was to sit with his friend and stroke the poor boy's back in comfort while he cried on his shoulder, lamenting his broken heart. Dan's heart was broken, too. He was hurting with anger at the sweet-hearted girl that he couldn't hate, no matter how badly he wanted to, at himself for lying to his best friend in the whole wide world, feigning compassion when in truth, he was _relieved_ that the two had broken up. His soul was hurting for the boy he loved and the heartache he was going through. It was hurting because he loved Kyle so much he wished he could embrace him and kiss him and make him forget about this pain for the rest of his life.

To add to his friend's woes, Valentine's Day was lurking around the corner and although Kyle was still largely inconsolable, Dan left yet another postcard in the younger man's rucksack, one that showed a bright-eyed nurse patching up a broken heart, an encouraging smile on her face. Kyle didn't comment on it and Dan began thinking that perhaps his friend hadn't found the small gift just yet, jammed between big textbooks as he had left it, until a week later, while returning a DVD that Kyle had let him borrow, Dan discovered it in the younger man's bedroom, taped to the wall between the other equally tacky cards that were arranged to frame a pale Polaroid of the two boys sitting next to each other at Kyle's aunt's house, smiling, their knees nearly touching.

 

“I'm never dating again,” Kyle swore that evening, sighing deeply as he dropped his head on Dan's shoulder. “Being single is my new jam.”

 

The older boy laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, s-same.”

 

Kyle snorted. “You've never even had a girlfriend.”

 

Dan swallowed around the crushing anxiety that tightened his throat, a cold sweat breaking out on his palms as he scrutinised the dull, grey carpet.

“Um, b-boyfriend.”

 

Swiftly raising his head, Kyle peered intently into his eyes and there was an earnestness in his gaze, a spark of recognition that made Dan think that _maybe_ his friend got it now, that he didn't need to explain what was going on in his head – that Kyle understood how he felt, _finally_.

Finally.

But Kyle didn't say a thing, he just smiled softly and hugged Dan fiercely and held on to him while the older boy struggled to stop crying.

He had never told anyone.

 

Before Dan turned nineteen, he had his first date on the night leading up to Valentine's Day.

He was feeling anxious as hell and kept tugging on his brand-new T-shirt (one that _wasn't_ black), running a clammy hand through his messy hair, checking the time again and again _and again_ and straightening out his badge-embellished denim jacket until his date finally came jogging around the corner of the tiny tea shop they had chosen to be their rendezvous point. The tall blond didn't bring flowers, he didn't wish Dan a _Happy Valentine's Day_ , didn't kiss his cheek in greeting. They drove back to Dan's place while his mum was out with her new boyfriend, eating dinner at some fancy restaurant, and the young man put on the first DVD that he could get his hands on – he was in a rush, just wanted to get it over and done with. His first time.

His date left an hour and a half later.

 

Dan walked the short distance to the Simmons' house early the following morning and sitting on Kyle's unmade bed, he told his best friend that his date had taken him out for a romantic dinner, that he had been kind and courteous, had made him laugh and kissed him softly. Dan felt ashamed, guilty; _dirty_. He wanted Kyle to be _jealous_ , wanted to make him feel exactly how badly it hurt not to be _the one_. But Kyle only smiled at him. He always did.

“I'm so happy for you,” he whispered as he bumped his shoulder into Dan's, “you deserve to have someone special in your life. Someone who really _gets you_ , you know?”

 

_You really get me_ , Dan wanted to shout in his face, _you're the special person in my life. You make my skin tingle and my stomach flutter. You make me laugh_. But he didn't say it. Instead, he burst into tears of defeat and despair and Kyle, ever-oblivious, sweet and caring Kyle, held his face in his hands and stared straight into his soul; _what happened_ , he kept asking, his voice full of worry and agitation – and Dan told him. That there had been no dreamy dinner date, neither gentleness nor shared laughter, only cold words and dispassionate kisses in the impenetrable dark. He told Kyle about sleeping with a man he hardly knew, that his first intimate experience with another person had been nothing but a quick, meaningless fuck. Dan didn't tell Kyle that he had tried so damn hard to imagine it was _him_ who was kissing his back, who was touching him, or that he had been mortified to find that the hands that roamed his body had felt so strange, so alien and cold on his feverish skin.

He stayed in the safety of Kyle's room all day, dozing on his bed, snuggled into a warm blanket that failed to make him feel any less exposed and watching some dull, action-packed TV show on his friend's laptop, and he tried not to lose his head when Kyle wrapped his arms around him tightly, reminding him of all that had happened the previous night, all that he had felt.

When he woke up in the late evening, feeling cold and exhausted, Dan's eyes promptly fell on Kyle who was sat on the floor next to the bed, cross-legged and gazing into space, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light that made his dark eyes sparkle as he smiled softly.

 

“What are you doing,” Dan asked, his voice husky from restless sleep, and Kyle's eyes snapped up swiftly, kind and warm like melting sunlight.

 

“How you feelin'?” he countered without answering Dan's question and the older boy shrugged, trying to ignore the hauntingly hollow feeling that seized his chest as he propped himself up on one elbow.

 

“Alright, I guess.”

 

“Well, first things first,” Kyle announced and pushed himself up, plopping down on the bed next to his friend and holding up a pale yellowish postcard, “Happy Valentine's Day.”

 

Dan took the card in his hands, smiling to himself as he inspected it thoroughly.

“ _Look in your mirror_

_And you will see –_

_The only one in_

_The world for me,”_

it said in-between chirping bluebirds and lush, golden sunflowers, and the older boy turned it around to decipher Kyle's messy handwriting on the back. _“You deserve better xx,”_ his friend had written there and Dan felt hot stinging tears welling up in his eyes again as Kyle ran a gentle hand through his hair, tilting his head to look into his eyes.

“We don't need anyone else.” He took Dan's hands in his own, caressing them lovingly. “Just each other.”

And Dan believed him.

 

That year, deep in the folds of a sweltering summer, the two friends had a big falling-out.

 

They were so frustratingly close to graduating, their lives hanging on the brink of a breathtaking, terrifying newness that made Dan's head swim, and over the course of the weeks leading up to their _big day_ , he tried his very hardest to convince himself to do what needed to be done.

He needed to _tell Kyle_ , finally, after all these years.

He _had to_.

After all, they didn't know where their paths would take them or if they would walk them side by side like they always had, and Dan needed to _know_ , beyond a shadow of a doubt, that these feelings, this _love_ that he had hidden away in his heart the very moment he had found it, would _never_ be reciprocated – or he would regret it for the rest of his life. He made up a speech of sorts in his head, word for word, played through a hundred plausible (and implausible) settings and scenarios, attempted to guess every possible reply and how he might respond to it, tried to train himself to remain calm and composed, no matter what.

A week before graduation, the older boy helped Mrs Simmons arrange a spontaneous surprise party to celebrate Kyle (shockingly) passing his driving test with Chinese takeaway and cheap sparkling wine. Dan was the one who led Kyle into the suspiciously quiet house, tugging him along by the sleeve of his jacket, and he was the first person the younger man pulled into his arms as soon as the lights came on and a small group of his closest friends screamed _“surprise”_ in unison.

He was going to talk to him, Dan kept telling himself, as soon as the dust had settled and they were able to spare a minute to talk in private without arousing their friends' suspicion. But Kyle beat him to it when he asked for Dan's aid in the kitchen and the older man, quickly rising to his feet and shooting Kyle a nervous smile, readily agreed to help him make tea for the few guests that were still sitting comfortably around the living room table.

That's when it all went to shit.

 

“You know, if I were you I would drink as much tea as possible now,” Kyle's neighbour Chris proclaimed, eyes glinting and a mischievous grin pulling on the corners of his mouth, “I've heard the stuff they sell over there is disgusting!”

 

Dan furrowed his brow in confusion and his heart missed a beat as he glanced up at Kyle, unable to disregard the horrible sinking feeling in his chest. “Over where?”

There was no missing the unambiguous hint of guilt, of _remorse_ in Kyle's warm eyes, the tender redness that tinted his cheeks. The room had fallen so utterly silent that Dan was pretty sure he could have heard a pin drop.

“Kyle, w-what's going on?”

 

The others were staring at him, stiffly and wordlessly and holding on to their half-empty Coke cans for dear life, cautiously curious eyes darting back and forth between the two boys. Kyle opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I'm, uh ... I- let's go somewhere else for this.” He exhaled shakily. “Please?”

Dan followed Kyle into the tiny, dimly lit kitchen and as the monotonous rumbling of the dishwasher etched itself into his brain, he heard Kyle tell him in a weak, trembling voice that he was leaving for Chicago the day after their graduation, with the aim to complete no more than two years of practical training at some architectural firm. Just like that, he was leaving Dan behind. And everyone had known before him.

 

“Why the fuck didn't you tell me?!”

 

Kyle wrung his hands, looking distressed. “I-I didn't know how to, I was-”

 

“Well, how did you tell everyone else?!”

 

“I- what? I just _told them_ , I guess.”

 

Dan shook his head in disbelief as his thoughts were racing at a hundred miles an hour. “You should've just told me, too.”

 

“But ... but you're _different_. You're my best friend, I didn't want to do it – like _this_ , I guess. I just wanted to-”

 

“When were you going to tell me?” Dan interrupted the dark-eyed boy, his voice quiet and strangely hoarse as he felt his heart shatter under the weight of conflicting emotions, leaving behind nothing but emptiness.

Kyle didn't respond. He dropped his tearful gaze to a small, shallow chip in the polished kitchen counter, his thumbnail scratching at the imperceptible imperfection as they stood in perfect silence until Dan walked out.

 

They didn't talk much after that. Sure, Dan was _angry_ , but in all honesty, he was much angrier with himself than he was with Kyle's careless and truly unintelligible behaviour, angry about the way he was handling the situation. He desperately wanted to understand, to comprehend why on earth Kyle had seemed so very keen on avoiding to tell him about this crucial event that would surely change his life for an extended period of time – if not forever –, but he simply could not grasp the fact that Kyle was really leaving him. That he wasn't going to be able to walk to his house whenever he felt like seeing him, to watch terrible B-movies together and sit in soothing, comfortable silence when there was nothing to say, to fall asleep by Kyle's side and tell him about how dull and uneventful his day had been.

 

They finally graduated on a maddeningly hot summer day and as soon as the official ceremony was over, Kyle asked Dan if he wanted to see him off at the airport the following morning, his expression hesitantly hopeful.

Dan said he was busy.

They said their goodbyes at Kyle's parents' house, hugging awkwardly and very briefly while Mr Simmons struggled to fit his son's bulky suitcases in the less than spacious boot of the small family car.

“I'm sorry,” Kyle mumbled when his dad honked for him to hurry up, “I really am. I don't know why I didn't tell you sooner, but I should have – I know that much.”

Dan didn't answer, too overwhelmed by the tears that were closing up his throat to speak.

“I, um-” Mr Simmons honked again, “I-I guess this is it, huh?” Kyle drew a long, shuddering breath and looked into the older boy's eyes like he had countless times before. Dan had always been annoyed at how tall his best friend was, taller than everybody else, but now the younger man looked strangely small. Defeated.

“I'll see you around, Dan.”

 

There were so many things that Dan still wanted and _needed_ to say – _don't go_ , for instance, _please don't leave me_ – but as he gazed at Kyle this one last time, as he lost himself in the dark eyes that had always made him feel like he was coming home, he only nodded in silence and watched helplessly as Kyle jumped in the back of his father's car and disappeared out of sight – slowly, inevitably.

 

Time flew by in a blur of loneliness and self-imposed isolation after that and while the younger man was getting settled in his new home in Chicago, Dan enrolled at university and the taunting hole that his best friend had left behind grew bigger and bigger with each passing day – until he got used to feeling empty. Some days he wanted to call Kyle, to tell him what an idiot he had been. That he forgave him.

_Of course_ he forgave him.

But instead of following his heart, he dove head first into hard-to-follow lectures and trying exams, clumsy attempts at making new friends and sleepless nights of studying, and he tried his hardest to _forget_. He met someone. He went on a date or two, or three.

Then, on the afternoon of the fourteenth of February, a year and a half after Kyle had left, Dan opened his postbox to find a pale blue envelope inside, and his hands were trembling terribly as he ripped it open. The handwriting on the letter was uncanny.

 

“ _Dear Danny,_

_I was an idiot. A really really big one. I was lying when I said I had no idea why I didn't talk to you about my plans right away. Truth is – I was scared of telling you because I thought once you knew, leaving would become a real thing that I had to do. And I didn't want to leave you._

_But my idiocy and my cowardice aren't your fault and I know I should have told you as soon as I knew. Because you're my best friend and you deserve nothing but the truth from me._

_I miss you. Chicago is kinda great and I think you'd really like it, but every place I see & every city I go to feels hollow because I can't come home and tell you all about it at the end of the day._

_The truth is that no place has ever felt like home without you. Even London would have felt like a spiritless shell if you hadn't given it life. The truth is that I miss you so much it hurts my soul and keeps me awake at night. I feel like a great weight is sitting on my chest and it's making it hard for me to breathe._

_I don't know if you'll wanna talk to me when I come back home, but I'm begging you to give me a chance to make up for my mistakes and to show you how much I value our relationship._

_Because here's the truth: there's so much more to say than I could ever fit in one stupid letter._

_And here's another truth: I've never told you how much you really mean to me._

_Hoping you're well,_

_Kyle xx”_

 

 

/ /

 

 

Kyle returned on a mild, sunny autumn day six months later.

Dan had finally plucked up all his courage a few days after receiving his friend's letter (which he had read about a dozen or so times) and they had spoken on the phone for hours and hours. Neither of the boys mentioned what had happened between them with a single word – instead, Kyle told Dan about Chicagoan architecture, about Lake Michigan and the Navy Pier that seemed to fascinate him, about the work he did and the people he had met. The older man was infinitely relieved to find that Kyle had lost none of the childish excitement that he had always loved about him, that the wide-eyed way in which he gazed at the world had not changed one bit.

The two boys called each other almost every day over the ensuing twenty-four weeks and Dan would smile to himself as he listened to Kyle's complaints about a colleague of his who was constantly trying to rain on his parade, would tell Kyle about all the jejune lectures the younger man was dying to hear about and cross another day off the calendar as soon as he hung up.

He didn't go on any more dates.

 

On the day of Kyle's arrival, Dan drove all the way to the airport in the shabby red car that his parents had bought him. He had _begged_ Mrs Simmons, who couldn't wait to see her son, to let him go alone and the forgiving compassion that lit up her warm eyes made him feel like she knew _exactly_ why he needed to do this by himself.

Dan spotted Kyle the very second he wandered into the pick-up area. His childhood friend had changed – he looked older now, more strong-willed than ever before; he had grown out his beard and gotten that beautiful tan that he had only ever brought home from summer holidays, and Dan sprinted towards him and jumped into his arms before he could question his own sanity. They held each other for what felt like a lifetime and not a sound passed their quivering lips as they stood rooted to the spot. Kyle's arms around him felt like a wall that shielded Dan from the outside world and he breathed in the familiar, sorely missed scent of _home_ that clung to his friend's warm skin as he smiled against his shoulder.

Kyle leaned back after a while and peered inquiringly into Dan's eyes, seeming to gauge his expression until he finally shook his head with a small, satisfied smile. He slid his purple rucksack off his back and reached inside, pulling out a yellowing postcard. It had a pale, dark-haired lady in a blue dress on it, carrying a parasol to protect her from the tiny pink hearts that were raining down around her. Dan huffed an incredulous laugh and wiped at his eyes.

“Valentine's Day is in, like, six months,” he joked but Kyle only grinned encouragingly.

 

“ _Your roguish eye a glance it darts,_

_And round you falls a shower of hearts,_

_I've prayed to good St Valentine,_

_You keep the one I once called mine.”_

 

Dan turned the card around.

“ _I was never brave enough to call you mine, but I am yours. Now and Forever.”_

He looked up and Kyle laughed quietly, his dark eyes filled with melancholy tenderness.

“Sadly, they don't sell roses at duty-free – which is a huge mistake on their part, if you ask me. I bet there's plenty of people on each of those planes who are coming home to apologise to the person they love most in the world. And if they had-”

 

Dan clamped a hand over Kyle's mouth and laughed brightly as he pressed their foreheads together.

“Shut up,” he whispered gently and when he leaned back, their eyes met in understanding. Dan took a deep breath. “I'm yours. Of course I am.”

 

And as they kissed for the first of many times, losing and finding themselves in each other, Dan let go of the old postcard and it was swept away in the humming crowd, kicked forward by many a heedless foot and brushed away by rattling luggage trolleys until a young, blue-eyed woman found it lying underneath a narrow metal bench and swiftly picked it up, smiling triumphantly to herself as she dusted it off gingerly. She would take it home and store it away in the painted cardboard box that she kept under her bed.

 

It would fit perfectly with the rest of her collection.

 


End file.
